The Beauty in the River of Olives; Exposé

She had one of those moments. She wanted to change. Some radical changes. I watched her transform in front of my eyes. My noble rose. She didn’t have so many thorns when I met her, but she didn’t have that beauty as well. She had these diversions which drew focus away from its overt essence. But I didn’t want to believe. The blank panel, TABULA RASA was waiting for me to paint on her with my hands, with my lips. Whose are you and are you perhaps meant to me?

I am not sure why I am calling you the name of the rose when your name clearly indicates olives. You are one of those sacred beings that mean wisdom, knowledge, success, victory, peace, strength, endurance. Oh, with as many names as I call you I’d never find the right ones to describe you as you deserve. Athens created you as a present to Zeus, and your existence is the most beautiful gift to mankind. Many poets and philosophers tried to capture the beauty of your name in an eternity, but your beauty is elusive. I tried to maintain every aspect of your beauty in something concrete. I didn’t want just to imagine and remember you I wanted to transform, to recreate you.

In your body, I saw the instrument of the most beautiful emotions. Muses gave you to me with great fanfare. Nothing on you was ordinary. You are wearing in yourself the devil’s music, while others are just victims who wish to possess you. They are free willing art accomplices in crimes of passion. I am smiling while I am watching the dazed ones. Like a creator, I feel strong, powerful and dominant. I created you, now is your turn, go and create marvelously tones. However, it seems to me that you will stand on the pedestal. You’re too enticing to be working. They give you the attention, and you are the subject of admiration. The time is useless because it can’t harm your gentleness in any way. You are classic. In the ancient Greece, the classicuss meant something of extreme value. You are counteracting the time, so you must be worthy.

The collisions of the stars aren’t creating such a beautiful melody that is my mind creating while he is just watching you. Perfect but impossible, you are like a hunted siren. Your grace can hurt only someone who is careless and who does not possess the refined aesthetic taste. Be very careful, and not only proud, my siren. Try to stand as far away from your pedestal and never uncover the whole self, but only bit by bit.


~ Zorica ~


The Art of Joey Havlock